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"Euphoric, Euphoric," muttered the baron to the page, "what can be done? Oh, what can be done?"

"Nothing," said the page, "till—"

"Till when?"

"Sir Gaston arrives."

The baron groaned.

"I see no hope," whispered Euphoric.

"None?—none?" groaned the baron. "Not a ray?"

"None—none," repeated the page. "Despair—capture—an ignominious death on a scaffold!"

"Horror! horror!" said the baron.

"The air feels hot here," said Count Durlack, turning to Euphoric.

"Hot?" cried the baron. "Yes, it is."

The page paused and looked around him. A dense smoke seemed slowly accumulating in the damp vault and passages, and the air came upon his cheek with a warmth unusual in that place.

"What is the meaning of this?" cried Durlack.

"God of Heaven!" cried the baron.

The words had scarcely left his lips, when one of the wild, awful, unearthly shrieks, such as had been before heard in the dreary vaults of Zindorf, met their ears, and was prolonged in a thousand frightful echoes along the vaulted passage in which they still were.

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CHAPTER LX.

THEY paused as the sound of dread came upon their ears, and even Euphoric, absorbed as he was in the contemplation of his own wrongs, and the near approach of his revenge, could not help trembling as that awful sound burst upon his ear.

"By Heaven and hell," cried Count Durlack, "those cries, baron, are to me the most inexplicable things in the world."

"Horrible! horrible!" cried the baron.

"And we cannot leave this infernal den," continued the count

"The place is filling with smoke," remarked Euphoric. "My lord, do you not observe it?"

"I do," said Durlack; "and I cannot think from whence it comes."

"Some one approaches," said Euphoric.

"Who?—who?" cried the baron, clinging to the arm of the count.

"Speak! speak!—who comes?"

" ‘Tis I," said Roland, as he appeared before them.

"What’s the matter now?" said, Durlack, as he saw by the countenance of the ruffian, which was ghastly pale, that some unusual circumstance had occurred.

"The castle—" said Roland.

"Well?" cried the count, impatiently.

"It is—"

"Speak!" cried the baron, "what would you say?"

"The castle is on fire!" said Roland.

"On fire!" screamed the baron.

"Villain!" cried Euphoric to Roland; " ‘tis your work!"

"My work?" stammered the trembling ruffian.

"Yes," interposed Count Durlack. "Roland, you have set fire to Zindorf Castle. As it has turned out, it is rather troublesome, because we can’t leave it so quickly as we would wish."

"I thought," growled Roland, "that we should be far enough off before the flames gained upon the old den."

The baron wrung his hands in utter despair.

"Fire in the castle," he muttered, "and a foe at the gates! What shall we do?"

"Certainly not remain here to be suffocated," said the count, striding forward.

The baron followed mechanically, and Roland and Euphoric came after.

As they ascended the narrow staircase which led into the castle, the smoke became thicker and more suffocating than in the vaults.

"Press forward, Euphoric," said the count, "and open every door and window you can. We must decide quickly now, baron, upon some course of action."

"We are lost—lost!" groaned the baron.

Euphoric sprang lightly up the stairs, and thence into the long gallery

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which by this time was so densely filled with smoke, that the page had much difficulty in breathing.

He made his way, however, to some of the windows, and instantly dashed out all the panes of glass within his reach. This he did to the windows on both sides of the gallery, and a current of cold air rushing across from window to window, in some measure purified the air, and carried off immense volumes of the black smoke, with which the whole castle seemed filled.

The count and the baron now stood in the middle of the gallery. There was upon the face of Durlack an expression of great anxiety, and the baron’s very lips were bloodless, from intense fear and agony of soul.

"Let us breathe a few, moments here," said Count Durlack. "This cool air is like a draught of nectar."

"We are lost cried the baron. "Lost!—lost!"

The count heeded him not, but turning to Roland, he said:—

"Where is the fire?"

"In the oaken parlour," answered the ruffian.

"Is there any chance of extinguishing it?"

"It has burnt through the floor, and—"

"Enough," said the count, "we have no means of extinguishing it, then. Now, baron, bestir yourself. How do you propose leaving your dear ancient dwelling-place?"

"Hark!" cried the baron. "What cries are those?"

The cry of "Fire!—Fire!" rung through the castle, and in a few moments Francisco and the affrighted Namine rushed into the gallery.

"Peace!" cried Durlack. "Cease this clamour. You are a man, Francisco,—can you fight, sir?"

"Ye—ye—yes," stammered Francisco.

"Oh, no, he can’t," said Namine. "Please you, my lord count, he ain’t a going to—"

"Peace! peace!" said the count. "Listen to me, baron. We but one chance of escape."

"Escape!" cried the baron. Yes,—yes, let us escape!"

"Your fears unman you," said Durlack. "There are five of us, with Euphoric, who can fight. I propose that we make a bold attempt to cut our way through those who, it is now evident, keep guard upon the castle."

"And leave me?" cried Namine.

"Do you want your throat cut?" growled Roland in her ear. "Because if you do, just speak again."

"Do you consent to my proposition, baron?" said the count.

"Yes, Yes," said the baron; "we—we must."

"The air is growing hotter each moment," said Euphoric.

"Then we have the less time to lose!" cried Durlack. "To the gate—to the gate!"

"Aye," cried the baron; "we must! we must!"

At that moment the blast of a trumpet come upon their ear so full and

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loud, that it startled them all, and, the Count Durlack even for a moment looked dismayed.

"By the fiends!" he cried, "it is Sir Gaston!"

Another blast from a trumpet seemed to shake the very walls of the ancient edifice.

"Lost! lost!" said the baron.

"Curses!" muttered Roland.

"The time is coming," thought Euphoric, and he buried his head in the breast of his garments.

The Count Durlack drew a long breath.

"Let us go to the warder’s tower, and hear what he has to propose."

"Yes, Yes," said the baron; "let us come; there may be conditions offered. Let us to the tower! the tower!"

The Count Durlack drew his sword, and preceded the party to the same tower, overlooking the castle-gate; which it will be recollected by the reader, Caroline Mecklenburgh was dragged to, by order of the baron.

The baron paused at the entrance.

"Count," he said, "shall we send Euphoric or Roland to deny our being here? We might then in some disguise escape."

Durlack shook his head.

"No," he said, "that would not answer. Let us hear what is offered us, and then be guided by circumstances."

So saying, the count, whose only redeeming quality was courage, and that he did certainly possess, entered the warder’s tower.

The third challenge of the trumpeter now rung loud and shrill from the other side of the moat, and then died away in endless repetition from battlement to turret.

The Count Durlack boldly presented himself at the window of the tower, and he was surprised to see no one but the trumpeter, where he expected to have beheld a considerable hostile force.

"Well, brawler," cried Durlack, "what seek you here?"

"It is the third morning," said the trumpeter.

"Well?" cried the count.

"His majesty has ordered that the Count Durlack that was, for he is count no longer, shall, together with one Anselmo Zindorf, falsely calling himself Baron Zindorf, be conveyed to the capital in chains!"

"Indeed!" sneered Durlack.

"Surrender yourselves to justice," cried the trumpeter.

"I wish my arm was long enough," cried Durlack, "to reach your knave’s sconce."

"Will you send a shaft from the cross-bow at the fellow?" said Roland.

"I leave that to you," said Durlack; "I play at higher game."

"Surrender!" cried the trumpeter.

The count waved his arm with a contemptuous air, and the man wheeled round his horse, and galloped away.

"Think you, count," said the baron, "that they are in much force?"

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"We shall soon see," replied Durlack. "I still adhere to my opinion that a sortie upon our parts, would be the best step we could adopt. Ha! what is that?"

As he spoke, there emerged from among the trees, which formed the commencement of the forest, a strong body of men-at-arms, dragging with them, by the aid of ropes, one of the large unwieldy cannon, which were in use at the period, and which had just began to make so great a revolution in the art of war.

"It is a cannon," said the baron. "Escape is impossible, we are hemmed in on every side."

"The affair certainly wears a serious aspect," said the count; "but you will excuse me for considering my own case is not quite so desperate."

"Indeed?" muttered Euphoric to himself.

"What chance is there?" said the baron, in a despairing tone. "I see none, count."

"You have a well stocked armoury in the castle?" said Durlack.

"Yes," answered the baron.

"Draw near then, and let me tell you of a plan."

The baron eagerly inclined his ear to the count.

"Note well for the next five minutes or so," whispered Durlack, "the arms and accoutrements of the besiegers; the common men-at-arms, I mean. Before they can force the gate with this cannon, we shall have time to array ourselves as nearly as possible like them; our cry can then be ‘Death to the assassins!’—Sir Gaston! &c."

"I see—I see" eagerly replied the baron. "And in the confusion, count—"

"Aye, baron, in the confusion of the assault we may escape."

"We may, count, indeed," replied the baron. "A good scheme!—An admirable scheme!"

"But still to be foiled," muttered Euphoric, who had heard every word.

CHAPTER LXI.

SLOWLY, and with great toil and difficulty was the cumbrous piece of ordnance dragged from the shelter of the trees to an open space on the bank of the moat, exactly opposite the draw-bridge.

"Now, baron," said Durlack, "do you note the costume of the men-at-arms?"

"I do, count," answered the baron. "I doubt not but what we have such in our armoury."

"Then let us hasten, we have no time to lose. Follow us, Euphoric, we may need your assistance."

The fire in the castle gained but slowly upon the edifice, which was chiefly of stone; but as the little party in the warder’s tower turned from it to enter the main body of the building, they felt the heat to be nearly insupportable.

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"Think you," said the count, "your armoury is accessible through this atmosphere of smoke?"

"It is favourably situated," replied the baron; "and it is floored by stone. We shall reach it with ease."

"Humph!" cried Durlack; "I don’t care how soon Sir Gaston opens the castle gate."

The baron was standing by a window, pale, and trembling, and the Count Durlack was hastily buckling on the half armour of a common trooper.

"Be quick, now, baron," cried the count, in a voice of excitement;—"arm yourself! Euphoric, take your station by that window; it commands a view of the besiegers. Report their progress, boy. Come, baron, quick! help me with this corslet."

The Baron Zindorf left the window, and Euphoric strained his eyes from it to note the progress of the siege.

"They are about to fire!" he cried. "The gun is pointed!"

"D-n them!" cried Durlack.

"Now—now!" said Euphoric.

The sullen boom of the cannon shook the air, and a loud crash bespoke the effect of the shot either upon the castle gate or the draw-bridge.

"Who can you see?" cried Durlack.

"None but common men-at-arms," answered Euphoric. "Yet now, there are others! There is a tall man in chain armour. He is bareheaded."

" ‘Tis is Sir Gaston he Beauvais," said Count Durlack. "Is he mounted, Euphoric?"

"No, he is not over armed. He seems to be more like a spectator of the siege."

"Curses on him!" cried Durlack. "He pretends to think me beneath his sword."

"He has something in his hand," said Euphoric; " ‘tis a mace I think."

"The devil doubt him!" said Durlack.

"They fire again," cried the page.

Boom went the cannon; and this time the discharge was followed by a loud huzza!

"What means that?" cried the count.

"Lost! lost!" groaned the baron.

"I cannot see," said Euphoric; "but by the crash, I should say the last shot forced the gate."

"Damnation!" cried the court;—"then we have no time to lose, baron, for they will be over the moat in a few minutes."

Roland was also encasing himself in armour, so as to resemble, as much as possible, one of the attacking party.

"Now, Euphoric," said Durlack, "no one will think of meddling with you, so you can do what you like, and go where you like."

"I have made a vow," said Euphuric.

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"What now?"

"That I will not leave you this day!"

"It matters not," cried the count. "We must to the gate, baron, our foes will cross the moat, and rush tumultuously into the castle. There will then be sufficient confusion to allow us to escape."

"Yes! yes!" said the baron, with an air of excitement. "To the gate! To the gate!"

Without further delay the party left the armoury, and proceeded towards the castle gate.

As they had to descend to reach it, they in some measure avoided much of the inconvenience they must otherwise have suffered from the dense smoke which was rolling in huge masses from room to room.

"The slightest thing," said Durlack, "would now set Zindorf Castle in a blaze! The accidental opening of a door, in a direction which admitted a strong current of air, would convert all this mouldering vapour into flames."

" ‘Tis better—far better," said the baron; "there will be more confusion—more chance of escape."

There were deep recesses on each side of the castle gate,—on the inner side the count immediately placed himself in one, saying to the baron:—

"The gate is not forced yet, but the next shot will, most likely, and it would be as well not to place oneself exactly in the entrance."

"It must have been the draw- bridge that fell," growled Roland. "I heard a shot rattling among the old rusty-chains."

A tremendous report at this moment burst upon their ears, and Roland and Euphoric had just time to step aside, when a shot struck the castle gate, making a great breach in it, and scattering the splinters in all directions.

A load shout followed the shot, and then for a few moments a dead silence ensued.

"By Heaven!" cried Durlack,—"they don’t seem to know what to do next."

"Hark!" said Euphoric;—"they come!—The draw-bridge must be down!"

The heavy and regular tramp of armed men could now be heard distinctly, crossing the draw-bridge.

The count bit his lip, as he said:—

"This will not do. This approach is too regular for us to escape. I had hoped for a rush and much confusion. Damn them!"

The regular tramp of the troops along the draw-bridge was suspended at intervals, and the practiced ear of Count Durlack told him the cause of those short delays.

"They are placing centinels;" he muttered, "at intervals, our scheme will not answer!"

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CHAPTER LXII.

A CHEER burst forth from the, soldiers of Sir Gaston, and in a moment the foremost of the troop advanced within the gateway.

The baron’s fears overcame his prudence, and with a cry he made a rush forward to escape into the interior of the castle. He was immediately seen—a soldier laid his hand upon his arm.

"Roland! Count!" he cried, "help!"

A rush of troops into the open gateway instantly took place. The page had his attention distracted from the Count Durlack by watching the fate of the baron, when he again turned his eyes to where the count had been standing, he missed him.

A cry or rather a shriek of agony burst from Euphoric, as he dashed forward among the soldiers.

"Hold! hold!" be cried, "In mercy—guard the gate—oh, God—he is gone!"

"What is this?" said a tall soldier, laying his armed hand upon the shoulder of the page, "why utter you these cries?"

"Oh, nothing—nothing," said Euphoric.

He had caught the eye of Count Durlack among the crowd of men-at-arms that stood just within the gate.

"Ha!" cried the tall soldier, who was no other than Sir Gaston de Beauvais, himself, "who have we here?"

The smoke from the cannonading had cleared partially away, and approaching from the interior of the castle, appeared Claudio with Caroline hanging upon his arm. The faithful Maurice followed a step behind.

"The prisoners of the Baron Zindorf," said Claudio, "welcome with gratitude, Sir Gaston de Beauvais."

"You are most welcome, sir," said Sir Gaston. "And if I mistake not, lady, to you I owe my life?"

"To you, sir," said Caroline, "we all owe more than life—we owe our liberty."

"Unhappy man!" said Claudio, as his eye fell upon the baron, who was in the clutch of a soldier. "Ha! the villain Roland!"

Claudio’s eye fell upon Roland as he was attempting to conceal himself among the throng.

He was immediately seized, muttering the most awful imprecations.

"Take these two men," said Sir Gaston, "and confine them in the most loathsome of the dungeons of which they have made such liberal use. To-morrow we will convey them in chains to the capital."

"Where is the greatest villain of them all?" cried Claudio.

"Aye, has aught been seen of Count Durlack?" said Sir Gaston.

"Yet a little—yet a little," muttered Euphoric. "Let him dream of escape. The avenger is nigh!"

"And who is this boy?" said the knight.